Dead as a Doorknob
by hippiechick2112
Summary: Klinger, hiding from explosions under his desk, meets face-to-face with a similar experience with death. Of course, he was acting it in order to escape from camp. Part fifteen of "The Klinger Chronicles".


**Dead as a Doorknob**

**Note and Disclaimer: Yep, we all here still don't own "M*A*S*H" still. We all own the characters we make, though, and play with the ones we love to wish we created. And Klinger is always a laugh to play with. Enjoy!**

* * *

**March 2, 1953, 0400 Hours**

Dammit, I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. The lines are down, as far as I've figured, and we're in a tight spot right now. God, this fetid place is driving me insane! And worst of all, the "friendly" artillery shells are at it again, along with the enemy's, and I cannot do anything until we hear from I-Corp. And they still think we're the Chinese again!

With a dead line in my ear, I hung up the phone I was holding in my hands. I know that Colonel Potter isn't going to be happy with me, but we have to do something. And the ok to go hasn't been approved just yet.

Say, what does that "M" in "M*A*S*H" stand for anyway? Moronic or morbid?

I folded my hands, as if I was in prayer, and pressed my forehead against it. I had to think my way out of this. For once, my Klinger genius wasn't getting us out of anything. I didn't know what else to do other than hide under a desk and make a dress for my Toledo funeral. I didn't know how to fiddle with the lines enough to get I-Corp back on and get them to acknowledge us as a unit. I can't get this unit safe. Most of all, I can't get everyone to stay sane.

_Ah, Klinger, you've gotten out of worst situation than this! You just need to sit back and think quickly._

An explosion came pretty close behind the building. With file cabinets flying out of everywhere and papers scattering everything, that desk seemed to be a good spot to sit for a while. I scrambled underneath it, putting those consecrated hands of mine over my head as a cover.

"Klinger, get on the –" Colonel Potter began behind me, somewhere in Post-Op, but somehow was interrupted by another explosion.

"I'm trying, Your Colonel Holiness!" I replied sarcastically, trying to reach for the phone once more before another explosion made me duck for cover again.

Under the desk, I mentally made my will, but scratched it away. Who was going to care about a Lebanese will anyway, with all that enemy and friendly fire going around?

As I hurdled under desk and hearth (my home away from home), I started to wonder about those days, way back in the beginning of the war, when death was something we all thought of numbly and Colonel Blake was alive. Hell, I could even _taste_ that sheet over my head as I laid there so long ago…a little more two years ago, I'd say…and pretended to be dead. Which was what I was about to become now if I didn't figure something out soon…

~00~

**January 4, 1951, 1450 Hours**

I almost giggled a little under the cold sheet (on an even colder stretcher and the coldest ground ever), but I had to lay as still as possible before I was found out. For, I'd say, this was one of my most nifty plans ever. And nobody was going to figure it out!

You see, I switched places with someone who came in here wounded in the chest. Young as he was, he died before getting into Pre-Op. Somehow, somewhere in-between here and Pre-Op, his body was lost in the mad shuffle to help the other wounded. In the office now, Radar is figuring out the paperwork with the guys here to pick up the dead man and wondering what to do with a missing body. I mean, the Army needs the paperwork in triplicate and on Colonel Blake's desk within the hour…if he's awake to sign it all.

In the meantime, I seem undetected. Medical personnel walk around, seeing to this and that person. Others, like my fellow orderlies, passed me without a glance, thinking me dead as a doorknob, because the sheet is over my head and the dead man's dog tags, found in Colonel Blake's office and snagged by me, are around my neck. Not to mention, my hairy self is covered with every piece of clothing known to man (or woman).

Oh, and did I mention that the dead man is from Toledo? I am going home!

Home is my goal still and I'm almost on my way there, acting like this poor dead man. I know it's tasteless, but an opportunity home beckons to me. And despite the cold and drizzle outside the sheet, I'm comfortable and a little numb in the legs, anticipating the walk to get a hot dog in Toledo. I mean, I don't have any itches so far, the bandages and fake chest wound look genuine, nobody is checking me out and I haven't had Major Houlihan breathe her dragon fire down my back yet.

I'm one pretty lucky Klinger right now.

"Wait, wait, I think that's the dead guy!"

Finally, there's Radar with his clipboard banging against his arms in the chilly breeze. I also hear footsteps as he and some others approach me gingerly, like the supposed dead Lebanese man can bite them.

"Are you sure this is him?" one of the men asked Radar. "I thought he was missing. He wasn't here a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," Radar replied confidently, more so than I've ever heard him before. "I guess someone found him. Nobody else has died."

"I don't know," the second man added. "He looks a little too hairy for someone who's supposed to be white and eighteen years old."

_Oh, no! I've been found out!_

Worst of all, and I hadn't noticed it before, but the sheet flapped away and showed a corner of my leg. That was why I was numb in the legs!

"Wait, let me see the grave registration paperwork please," another voice said out of the blue, and it was female, to boot. "It needs to be signed by the ranking officer around."

_Dammit, it's Major Houlihan!_

Another person pushed himself in immediately afterward and luckily, it was Father Mulcahy, my savior many times already (and hopefully, one to buffer Major Houlihan when I'm found out). "Now, this man is in my care now. I haven't given him Last Rites just yet."

"And since when has that –" Major Houlihan started as some paperwork was exchanged between her and someone, most likely Radar.

"Major, I think the Lord will provide amble time for these fine men to take him away and start his way home to his own family on Earth," Father Mulcahy interrupted in an angry tone. "Now, if you will all excuse me, I need to give this man another way home, and this time, to the most important of all, his Heavenly Father."

There was silence afterward. Then, footsteps and papers echoed in all directions, leaving me and Father Mulcahy in a deserted compound. Everyone else had gone inside or was someplace else in the camp.

"Now, Klinger, I know that it's you again," Father Mulcahy explained quietly as he pulled away the sheet, covering my face still as the holiest of holy water splashed my forehead in a mocking fashion as prayers seemed to be whispered in my ear. "You still have the chance to redeem yourself and get out of this without getting into any trouble. All you have to do is listen to me and listen to me very carefully. I'm not about to tattle to Major Houlihan or Major Burns, but you need to step up and suffer in purgatory, like everyone else."

"But Father, I need to go home," I moaned.

"We all do, my son," Father Mulcahy told me as he leaned in closer. "But God gave us this burden to carry and we have to finish it. There's a reason for us being here together."

"Yeah, to make each other miserable."

"Klinger, be serious please. Now, if you'd kindly shut up, I'll pretend to be done and have Igor and Radar take you off to the bus and cover for you. Before it takes off, though, the real Private Richards will be on the bus. We have the body they need. It's been misplaced sadly and has also had Last Rites thankfully."

I thought about it. Sure, Father Mulcahy is a good guy, but he threatened to have me exposed to the most dangerous elements of all, the both of them sure to get me in the stockade. Whether or not he will go through with his threat is beyond me. And I, for one, did not want to find out the hard way.

"Sure," I said finally after a few seconds of debating, silencing my body's unbendable protests of freedom. "I'll get off the bus."

"That's good," Father Mulcahy only replied as he got up, stiff himself. "Now, shut up and we'll cover for you."

"Take me away then, oh great Father of mine," I then joked as my face was covered once more and warmth seemed to have crept back into my legs.

"Soon, my son, it'll be soon enough." Father Mulcahy then walked away, sighing as he went.

I sighed myself. _I can only hope that Father Mulcahy's plan works. I don't feel like being in the stockade, especially this time of year._

~00~

**March 2, 1953, 0425 Hours**

"You stupid little miscreant, you better have I-Corp on the line!" Major Winchester bellowed from beyond the grave as my first misadventure of 1951 finally escaped me for a while. "Why can't you help in getting Dante's inferno away and from reaching us?!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" I yelled back from under the desk, reaching back up for the phone and seeing attached still…and hopefully having someone on the other line. "You think it's easy getting someone who thinks we're still the enemy and not the other way around?"

"You can't find much with both hands, can you, Klinger?" I heard Captain Hunnicutt yell as well, closer than even Major Winchester. "The best thing you can do is sew a skirt back together."

"And you all dare to insult the Lebanese King, Maxwell Q. Klinger?" I asked as if insulted, standing up within the shaky office, seeing nothing but angry faces behind the door to Post-Op. "My genius has _yet_ to decline a challenge. Why, back in my heyday, I –"

"Oh, just shut up and quit acting like you're dead, will you?" Major Houlihan finally pushed herself into the crowds behind the door. "It's not like we're switching bodies here, you know. It's simple enough to get I-Corp on the line."

My blood froze. _She knew all along, didn't she?_

"Watch and learn then, Major," I replied to her assertively, mostly to the officers too. "I'll get who you want on the line. And I'll get this so-called 'inferno' of Major Winchester's out as well. Watch me."

I finally got up and sat down in my chair, shaking as my back turned to my critics. My fingers trembled as I rotated and dialed the first number that popped into my head. However, I knew that the wheeling and dealing has only begun. I have more to prove to everyone and it won't be just playing dead.

Finally, a voice filled my hair-filled ears. "Hello, I-Corp?" I inquired, smiling as I turned my chair around to face everyone. "We need some help…"

* * *

**I would like to thank a few people, especially those who have been with me for so long. A shout goes to the Melindas (samanddianefan10 and Imalatebloomer), Charlee (****charley .vandra**) and April (Ms. New York). Without you all, I wouldn't be here still. This one is for all of you...

**If anyone can, please read their stories. I'm not just saying this to be nice, but their stories will take you places where you can't imagine. I hope you all enjoy them as much as I did. :)**


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